


You're in Pink (and I'm in blue)

by Hyeyu



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Hanahaki Disease, Liberal Use of the word '°Asshole', Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-16 23:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11263746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyeyu/pseuds/Hyeyu
Summary: Takahiro held his gaze a few seconds in silence before he sighed. "...It's only been a week, okay? S'not serious yet."“Not serious yet?” Something jumped in Matsukawa’s jaw and he abruptly released Takahiro’s hand, sending the petals cascading to the ground. Takahiro was going to have to clean them up before the others started streaming into the clubroom, and wouldn’t that be fun. “You’re coughing up fucking flowers, Hanamaki.”“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”Hanamaki Takahiro has 99 problems and Hanahaki flowers make up 98 of them.





	You're in Pink (and I'm in blue)

**Author's Note:**

> I took a nap in the car during lunch break, and woke up with this idea almost fully formed. Moral of the story: sleep is important, guys. 
> 
> Always wanted to try writing this particular trope; hope I've gotten it right! For readers unfamiliar with Hanahaki disease, a definition can be found [here](http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=hanahaki%20disease). If left untreated, Hanahaki is fatal.
> 
> Title taken from 'Crazy Crazy' by Yasutaka Nakata ft. Charli XCX and Kyary Pamyu Pamyu.

Ten days after the surgery, Matsukawa asks Takahiro out.

"Wait, let me get this straight." Takahiro levels a flat stare on his best friend of two and some years, arms crossed across his chest. It's a better look than gaping unattractively, and Takahiro has had enough of feeling unattractive lately. "You want me to, what, go out with you?"

Matsukawa looks as unruffled as always, sleepy eyes and all. "Yeah."

"As in, on a date?"

"'Dates'. Preferably plural."

"You know," Takahiro starts, then stops. Looks down and oh, would you look at that, his hand is clutching the front of his uniform shirt, right above where the small incision is still healing, held shut by neat stitches. He grimaces.  "Just so we’re both clear, you _do_ know this is kind of a dick move."

"I know." Matsukawa pulls his hands out from his pants pockets. He doesn't step closer, much to Takahiro's relief. "I'm serious though. About the whole dating thing. We hang out every week anyway - it doesn’t have to be be anything more than that. Well, maybe some extra hand-holding, that’s it. We won’t do anything you hate.”

“But the reason we hang out…” Is gone, carefully removed by medical professionals who probably perform the same operation several times a day. He no longer needs the support of the weekly meetings, nor Matsukawa’s patient ear anymore. It’s done. It’s over.

“I know,” Matsukawa repeats. “So? How about it?”

Takahiro wants to tell Matsukawa that's it's ok. That he, Hanamaki Takahiro is ok, that Matsukawa doesn't need to fill in or compensate for the gaping hole in the lockbox of Takahiro's poorly-invested feelings. That Matsukawa doesn't have to keep up the farce of accompanying Takahiro on weekends as emotional support anymore. Because that’s what this is, right? Matsukawa being his irritatingly perceptive self, as per usual. Bad enough that Oikawa can suss out their moods on the volleyball courts - it’s hard to forget Matsukawa is uncannily intuitive as well.

He should be more pissed off that he's apparently an open book. Should hurl Matsukawa's proposal(? Confession? Suggestion?) back in his face, and tell him to shove his kindness right back up his ass.

"Okay," he finds himself saying instead, hand dropping from crumpled fabric to rest loosely by his side. "Okay, fine. Whatever. Can we go for practice now?"

Matsukawa’s grin is brief but genuine as he slings a companionable arm around Takahiro’s shoulder. “Irihata-sensei is going to yell at us for being late."

“Forget Irihata-sensei; I can already see Oikawa swearing our five-minute tardiness is the reason why we’re going to lose our top form.” The name still sits oddly on his tongue, and Takahiro mouths it silently several times, testing its shape. “Anyway, I'm blaming you if we end up having to stay back an extra thirty minutes in practice today."

Matsukawa's arm is warm through the thin uniform shirt. "Don't we always though? Stay back, I mean."

“True, but there’s a difference between voluntary suffering and enforced dictatorship.”

“You’re not very good at this dating thing. Relationship rules say you’re supposed to be backing me up here.”

“Oh, are we starting already? Right, sorry sweetheart, you’re always right 100% of the time, hands down, no questions asked. There, good enough for you?”

Matsukawa pulls a face at Takahiro’s jibe and accompanying snicker. He doesn’t remove his arm from around Takahiro’s shoulder though, and for all his half-hearted complaints, the solidness of Matsukawa’s presence beside him makes it easier to step back onto the familiar courts for the first time since Takahiro left the clinic.

\---

_When he had coughed out the first flower, Takahiro had stared at the crushed petals uncomprehendingly. Raised his head to look at where Oikawa was seated with his head bent over his phone, eyes squinty as he furiously typed out a text message. Then, back down at the saliva-damp petals in growing consternation._

_"Oh fuck."_

_“You okay, Hanamaki-senpai?” Kindaichi asked, unaware of the crisis literally twining around Takahiro’s lungs._

_“Yeah, I’m good.” The petals felt gross, crushed up in the palm, and Takahiro stuffed them hastily into his pocket before wiping his hand on the seat of his shorts and jogging over to join the others._

\---

"You're late."

"Not by much." Matsukawa glances at his watch. "Sorry though."

"If this were a proper date,” Takahiro informs him drolly from where he is leaning against a lamp post, idly playing Magikarp Jump on his phone, “I'd accuse you of not caring enough to be punctual."

"Oh, is this not a proper date?" Matsukawa raises an eyebrow. "Shame, I actually picked out nice clothes and all."

"I am touched, truly I am." Matsukawa's jeans do seem more well-fitting than usual, as is his button-down shirt. His hair is still messy,  but looks more artfully wavy than bedhead-sloppy. The overall effect is pleasing, and Takahiro finds himself nodding in approval.  

"You'd better be; I swear these jeans are tighter than they used to be."

"Blame your thighs and all those extra serve practices."

"Blame-" Matsukawa catches himself before Oikawa's name slips out, but the brief wince, however fleeting, is enough to betray him.

Once, Takahiro might have winced alongside him. Now though, there's only a sense of numbness, a phantom ache where flowering vines used to be.

“Blame Oikawa, right?” He snorts aloud now. It sounds more natural; with frequent usage, he’s already getting used to the reduced attachment that is tagged to his team captain and anything related to him. “Oh captain our captain, how dare you improve our muscle tone. I am offended. If it makes you feel any better, I’m certain my thighs are better.”

Matsukawa rolls his eyes, but the laughter that colors the air is fond. “Okay, okay, Thighmaster. Where are we headed today? The arcade as usual?”

“The arcade as usual. I can’t wait to hand your ass back to you in Tekken.”

“Oh, we’ll see whose ass gets handed over. Because my mastery of Alisa's moves has ascended, transcended even.”

“Transcended to the next level of suckiness maybe. I can’t believe you still insist on using her.”

“Coming from the guy who keeps using Jin.” Matsukawa ruffles the back of Takahiro’s hair, eyes crinkling as he yelps and swats the hand away. “Loser buys lunch?”

“You’re on.”

\---

_"Since when?"_

_"Look, it's not importa-"_

_"Since when, Hanamaki?" Matsukawa’s grip on his wrist was too tight, enough so to force Takahiro’s fingers to unfurl, revealing their soggy content. His voice was soft though, shot through with steel. “Don’t lie to me.”_

_Takahiro held his gaze a few seconds in silence before he sighed. "...It's only been a week, okay? S'not serious yet."_

_“Not serious yet?” Something jumped in Matsukawa’s jaw and he abruptly released Takahiro’s hand, sending the petals cascading to the ground. Takahiro was going to have to clean them up before the others started streaming into the clubroom, and wouldn’t that be fun. “You’re coughing up fucking flowers, Hanamaki.”_

_“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”_

_“Who is it? No, wait.” Sliding his eyes to the side, Matsukawa jerked his head towards Oikawa’s locker. “It’s him, isn’t it?”_

_Takahiro didn’t even bother answering, merely looked at Matsukawa until the other boy broke eye contact, hands curling and uncurling restlessly. "Fuck."_

_"I know."_

\---

"Oooh, are those cream puffs?"

Takahiro braces himself for the full weight of Oikawa pressed against his back, pulling his box of profiteroles protectively towards him and out of reach of the brunet's greedy fingers. "Nope, mine all mine, get your thieving hands away."

"Makkiiiii, c'mon! Sharing is caring!"

"Just call me heartless then." Still hunched over his treasure, Takahiro finishes the half-eaten one he had been holding with relish. The burst of vanilla floods his mouth and he grins, licking at the cream filling that had overflowed onto his fingers ostentatiously. "Because like hell I'm sharing these."

"So mean! Besides, you shouldn't be eating that many sweets, or you'll get sick again and end up having to miss another week of school."

"Hmm, let me consider....nah."

He tunes out Oikawa's whining in favor of figuring out how to extract another profiterole from the box while keeping tucked safely out of reach. The sweet flavor is a lovely contrast to the green-ish taste of kigiku flowers, and he savors each bite of the delicate pastries.

Across him, Matsukawa looks up from his own lunch. "Yo, Iwaizumi, better step in before Hanamaki shanks Oikawa here and we lose our setter before the Interhigh."

"It's too early for this kind of bullshit," Iwaizumi's voice floats across Hanamaki's shoulder, somehow grumpy and amused at the same time. "Here, take this and stop bugging Hanamaki."

"Waa, Iwa-chan is the best!" Oikawa plops down on the grass beside Hanamaki, eagerly tearing open the wrapper of a milk bun. Iwaizumi shakes his head, but settles down easily as well, pulling out two bento boxes for himself and Oikawa. The captain coos something affectionate to Iwaizumi, pressing unashamedly into his personal space even as Iwaizumi shifts to accommodate him.

Satisfied that his cream puffs are no longer under threat, Takahiro uncurls from his semi-defensive position to return to whole-heartedly enjoying his dessert, pausing only when he catches sight of Matsukawa's face. The other boy is still watching Oikawa, his expression unreadable. 

Then he looks at Takahiro, and the look flickers and fades into something softer but no less enigmatic before he drop his eyes and goes back to picking at his rice.

\---

_"I'm going to have it removed."_

_"Are you sure?"_

_Takahiro aimed the gun-shaped console at the screen and fired off several successive shots. The tinny dying sounds of zombies were cathartic; coupled with the noise of the arcade, it was cacophony enough to drown out even the loudest of heartbeats. "Yeah, I'm sure. Told my mom, then went for the consultation and everything - it's scheduled in two weeks time. Hey, watch your left."_

_"Whoops, my bad." Matsukawa shot at a few zombies on his side of the arcade game, but Takahiro didn’t even have to glance over to know it was half-hearted. "Your mom knows then?"_

_"Kind of. She doesn't know who it is. Oh hell, I hate this boss."_

_Matsukawa doesn't help keep up the pretense of casualness, turning to look at Takahiro fully as a behemoth of an undead creature effectively swiped off a chunk of health off their characters' life bars. Takahiro yelped. "Holy shit, you absolute fucker! I'm gonna kill-"_

_"Are you sure?"_

_"Huh? Wha-"_

_"Are you sure you want to remove it?" Matsukawa ran a hand through his hair, rumpling it even more. On screen, the monster roared and slashed red lines across the screen. Another health bar gone. "I mean, are you… aren't you even going to try to at least talk to him about it?"_

_The gun console was too heavy all of a sudden, and Takahiro dropped it to his side. He attempted to smile, crooked and wobbly and ugh, he swore he would keep it together. Hanamaki Takahiro was stronger than this. He got this, he had planned this, he was committed to seeing it through._

_Still, it didn't mean it didn't hurt thinking of it._

_"You've seen him and Iwaizumi together, haven't you?"_

_Matsukawa's brow wrinkled, eyebrows pinched together. "So?"_

_"So? They're in love, Matsukawa. It's so, so fucking obvious they're gone for each other." Takahiro laughed, strangled. "Shit, I'm supposed to be over this."_

_'Game over!' the game boomed. Takahiro's knuckles were white where his hands still gripped the console. He didn't look at Matsukawa - somehow, there was nothing worse in the world at that moment than seeing any form of pity on his best friend's face._

_"Maybe I would have tried if Oikawa isn't… you know. Maybe I should still try. Going out without a bang isn’t my style, right? But… they're just… they’re good for each other. I'm jealous, don't get me wrong, but it doesn't take a prodigy to see how well they work together." Hanamaki replaced the console on its stand before he did something stupid like break it. Wouldn’t that be something: High School Student Fined For Vandalising Arcade Property Because He Could Not Deal with Killer Love-Tree in His Body._

_Deprived of the console, his nails dug crescent marks into his palms. "You can't change my mind, Matsukawa. Don’t ask me to, please. I won't do it, I won’t change my decision. It's just a crush, not some soulmates kind of deal. And I refuse to jeopardize my friends' relationship for a one-sided affair.”_

_He turned and stalked right out of the arcade, breathing slowly and evenly through his nose. Behind him, he heard footsteps - the extra three centimetres Matsukawa had over him must be in his damn legs, given how quickly he caught up. To his credit, he was smart enough to not grab Takahiro, settling for walking beside him instead._

_"Hey, let's grab a seat somewhere."_

_"Let's not - I feel like walking."_

_A shrug. "Fair enough."_

_They wandered aimlessly around Jozenji-Dori in awkward silence for a while, only stopping when Takahiro felt an overwhelming need to cough, expelling mouthfuls of bright yellow petals into a nearby trash bin. He didn't think he'd ever like the scent of chrysanthemums ever again. Matsukawa, ever dependable, blocked him from public view and fine, those extra three centimetres could be useful sometimes._

_"I talked to Shimada-sensei," Takahiro said once he had recovered enough to spit the remaining mess in his mouth out. "She said the operation is low-risk, and that it’s done all the time, so there’s really nothing to worry about. It’ll only take about a week’s recovery, tops. Won’t even interfere with volleyball practice much. Plus, I should still be able to be friends with Oikawa; it's just the romantic feelings that'll be removed with the hanahaki." He smiled, mirthless. "Don't worry, I'm not going to let something like this kill me."_

_Matsukawa hummed. "Are you ok with it though?"_

_"Do I have a choice?"_

_\---_

Takahiro eyes the profiteroles, each delectable treat sitting snugly in its own compartment in a too-fancy box. "You're spoiling me."

Matsukawa gently bounces the box against Takahiro's forearm again. "I thought you liked them."

"I do." Takahiro takes them because he is weak, and because it would be a shame to let such amazing desserts go to waste. He recognizes the name embossed along the side of the box - it’s identical to the one Matsukawa had given him last week from one of the more trendy bakeries in town, with the outrageous prices to match. "You're really taking this dating thing seriously, aren't you?"

"Hmmm? Oh. Of course I am." Matsukawa glances at him. “Did you think I was joking?”

“No, I guess not. But.” Takahiro stares at his shoes. "Do you..." Ah, fuck it, it was going to sound weird however he said it - might as well be blunt. "Do you like me, Matsukawa? Shit, wait, let me rephrase that-"

"I do like you." Matsukawa's reply is even and calm, even as Takahiro glances at him, startled all over again. "Oh come on now, did you think I would do all this if I wasn't serious? Those cream puffs aren't cheap."

"So, all these weekly things..."

"I'd like to think they stopped merely being support sessions after the surgery." Matsukawa's tone is low. "In fact, I've been considering them 'dates', the way I said they were."

Takahiro's shoulders curl in on himself. "I..."

"I don't expect you to like me back, Takahiro." The use of his first name, wrapped so intimately in Matsukawa's voice, sends a shiver shuddering down Takahiro's back. "It would be unreasonable to expect… right after. It's ok, I get it. But I figured I’d seize the chance and make my intentions clear."

"Why now?"

"Why not now? Seems as good a time as any other. And I want to be here, in case you need someone to lean on." Turning, Matsukawa stares out of the window at the landscape rushing past them. "But also because I'm selfish, and like your company. I like spending time with you, simple as that."

"Honestly, I don't think I'm capable of liking someone at the moment, not that way." Takahiro stares at the cream puffs, toying with one of the loose flaps. "Sometimes, I wonder if they carved the whole emotion out of me with that stupid plant."

"Don't beat yourself up over it. You're one of the strongest people I know, but even you need to give it time." Matsukawa's hand comes to rest over his. His fingers are slightly larger than Takahiro's, his palm almost completely covering his. Takahiro would normally resent it (no wonder Matsukawa keeps scoring more blocks than him, damn it), but as the train hurtles unerringly towards their stop, he doesn't move, soaking in the comfort from where the line of Matsukawa's body presses against his, as the box of profiterole bounces on his knees with every jerk of the carriage.

He doesn’t know if he’s still capable of love. But it’s hard to say no to Matsukawa Issei, not when he allows Takahiro to rest against his shoulder. Not when he buys Takahiro nice stuff, jokes with him, supports him unquestioningly.

If he could, Takahiro thinks, he would choose Matsukawa. Again, and again, and again.

\---

"Matsukawa's not in school today."

"I know." He had texted Takahiro, a short brief message about having caught the seasonal flu. It’s strange to admit it, but Takahiro already misses his sturdy presence. "Can’t be helped. Where's Oikawa?"

"Sado-sensei asked to see him after class. He'll be along later." Iwaizumi sinks down beside Takahiro on the bench. Together, they watch as the first and second year club members work to set up the nets and bring out the volleyballs from the clubroom.

"How're you feeling?"

Takahiro grunts. "Sleepy, and already regretting the stress of practice ahead. In short, pretty much the same as usual."

I don't mean-" Iwaizumi cuts himself off, a deep crease furrowing his brow. He looks so irritated at something, Takahiro can't help himself - he snickers, bumping against Iwaizumi's shoulder companionably.

"Don't worry, oh illustrious vice-captain, I'm still committed to the Shiratorizawa-ass-kicking cause."

"I meant the flowers. The hanahaki ones that you had."

Takahiro sobers immediately, his head snapping around to look at where Iwaizumi had leant forward, hands on his knees."You knew?"

"Oikawa's perception isn't always the brightest when it involves himself," Iwaizumi says quietly. “And you were very good at hiding it.”

Takahiro stares some more, then slumps over. "Don't worry, I don't like him anymore."

"That's not what I care about, idiot." Iwaizumi swats him, mouth pressed into a thin line. "I'm just… sorry. That you had to. Well. Deal with that. I… damn, I-"

"Hey, don’t stress yourself out. I get it. And I got it removed, so no harm, no foul. He's happiest with you anyway; I can't begrudge him nor you that." Takahiro chuckles a little. "It must seem pretty stupid, huh? Me crushing on Oikawa."

"I pressed some of the flowers I coughed out." Iwaizumi waits until Takahiro is mostly done with gaping before he continues, "Kigiku flowers, right? Because that asshole would have 'imperial' represent him in hanakotoba, go figure."

"What the - you too?"

"Probably longer than you. It had been a while coming, especially since I’ve known him for ages." Iwaizumi lifts his head to stare at the roof of the gymnasium. "To be honest, I wasn't sure what to do when I first found out. It’s a shitty feeling to have your body go 'yup, you’ve got unrequited feelings'. I still wonder sometimes - how would I have coped if he had gotten together with you instead?"

Takahiro shakes his head. "Nah, that was never a possibility. In all the years we have been friends, Oikawa's only ever had eyes for you. Hell, some of the new first years probably figured it out just watching you guys in practice."

"Still."

"It’s not your fault; you don't have to apologize to me." Takahiro grins at Iwaizumi - finds that he actually means it. It's a buoyant feeling, light and freeing. "Go be disgustingly happy together with my full blessing. In private though, please - I make no promises as to what I will do if I catch you guys going at it in front of the kids. PDA is overrated."

Iwaizumi grins back, reaches out to clasp the hand Takahiro offers - a reaffirmation of friendship. “I’ll try my best, but you know Oikawa.”

“I’ll be sure to drop comments on Ushijima’s superiority loudly and obnoxiously within earshot. Considered yourself warned.”

"Yeah, yeah. Hey, you know, Matsukawa has been needing bathroom breaks a lot lately." There is a weight to Iwaizumi's words as he eyes Takahiro meaningfully. The pink-haired boy blinks.

“What?”

“He’s been excusing himself a lot in class recently.” Iwaizumi pauses, allows the words to sink in. “A couple of us suspect he might have….you know. And given how much he’s been hanging around you...”

_I do like you._

_Oh come on now, did you think I would do all this if I wasn't serious?_

"I should…” Takahiro’s already on his feet, looking between the courts and the door. “Go check on him...see if he needs anything..."

"Oikawa will probably make both of you do extra receiving practice with him next week." Iwaizumi shoves at him. "I'll explain to Irihata-sensei. Go kick him in the ass."

\---

One of the many things constant volleyball practices have bestowed on Takahiro is a generous heaping of stamina. Even so, he's panting by the time he reaches the Matsukawa residence, folded almost completely over as he pulls huge breaths into his lungs.

The tree for Oikawa is gone, but in its place, Takahiro thinks there might be a new bloom taking up residence. One less harmful, and a lot more hopeful.

It's Matsukawa himself who meets him at the door, one of those flu masks tugged across the lower half of his face. He looks tired and drawn, and suddenly, Takahiro wants nothing more than to tug the taller boy into his arms for a long hug.

“Hey,” he tries, faux-casual. “You weren’t in school today.”

“Yeah.” Matsukawa tugs at the bottom of the mask. It’s a twitchy gesture, a dead giveaway that Matsukawa is nervous, and isn’t it interesting that Takahiro can tell all this just by observing the way his fingers move?

“Is everything ok? Are you feeling better?” _Hey, are you suffering from Hanahaki?_

"I’ll be al-" Matsukawa chokes mid-word, hand rising to his mouth. Spinning on his heel, he flees inside, feet pounding down the narrow corridor. But Takahiro hasn't done years of volleyball for nothing.

He makes it to the bathroom in time to see Matsukawa throw up flowers, whole clumps of it spilling past his lips each time he retches. White blooms tumble over the rim of the porcelain toilet bowl, crushed and wretched. It's more flowers than Takahiro himself has ever produced in one sitting.

Not that he takes the time to boggle at the sight - he's down on his knees before he knows it, hands grasping the shaking shoulders firmly to anchor them. Silently, he holds Matsukawa until the other boy is done heaving, face pale and sweaty. Then he tugs the flu mask off where it dangles from one of Matsukawa's ears, tossing it to the side before carefully pulling at limbs and clothes until Matsukawa is half-reclined against his chest.

"How long?"

Matsukawa's voice is hoarse. "Long enough."

"I've never seen you cough up flowers."

"It improved for a while when we started going out. Guess the disease took that as semi-requited." Matsukawa chuckles, winces. "So, you see, I have been pretty selfish."

"Why me?" Takahiro still couldn't completely wrap his head around it - someone so in love with him to the extent they would grow a plant around their heart for him. Matsukawa shoots him a look, impressively incredulous given the pallor of his face.

"Why not you? You're… well, I can't lie and say you're perfect, but you're the closest thing to it, Takahiro."

Takahiro swallows the lump that had inexplicably formed in his own throat. “Even when you knew I had hanahaki for Oikawa?”

“Even then.”  Matsukawa closes his eyes, exhales audibly. " _God,_ sometimes, I wished I was Oikawa. Now you know."

"Were you ever going to have it removed?"

Matsukawa's smile is thin. "I'm not as brave as you, Takahiro."

Matsukawa probably gives Takahiro too much credit in the bravery department - the way he sees it, Matsukawa's the brave one to even entertain the idea of sacrificing his life on the pedestal of unrequited love. Takahiro’s nowhere as brave as Matsukawa, who had dared to ask Takahiro out, who had showered him with quiet but steadfast affection, even knowing all that had happened prior.

But he's brave enough for this: cupping a hand along Matsukawa's face, he turns it, gently but firmly, until he could see the bruises beneath Matsukawa's eyes, can see the sweat that still beads the wide forehead, the square cheekbones and familiar mouth.

Then, he swoops in and presses a kiss to chapped lips.

It’s nothing spectacular - Matsukawa tastes like the familiar green chlorophyll and crushed petals. But as Matsukawa groans into the kiss, one hand coming up to curve around Takahiro’s wrist, Takahiro can’t help but smile helplessly, pulling back enough to be able to look dead into Matsukawa’s wide eyes.

“Hey, Issei,” and oh, that shiver is nice, Takahiro should use Matsukawa’s first name more often. “I was thinking: let’s give this thing a go properly, shall we?”

“You...” Matsukawa blinks, slow. “You don’t have to force yourself.”

“Yeah, I know. But I want to. Think I could, actually, with you. If you’re willing to be patient enough to put up with me.”

“Tall order, that." But Matsukawa's shoulders are no longer shaking and Takahiro can’t help himself; he kisses Matsukawa's temple, feeling strangely victorious.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be bad to relearn how to love properly with Matsukawa. He thinks it can be done. Hell, he’s sure it can be done.

He picks one of the flowers up, examining it. Even half crushed, it was somewhat pretty.

“Kuchinashi.” Matsukawa takes the bloom from him, straightening the petals with his fingers. “Secret love. Apt really.”

“Meh. I thought I’d merit pink flowers at least. Seriously, couldn’t you have produced sakura flowers? Or peonies, maybe.”

Matsukawa snorts. “Just shut up and kiss me again, you asshole.”

Laughing, Takahiro does just that. (And maybe, just this once, the green taste of flowers isn’t as horrible as it could be.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and constructive comments are much appreciated, even more so than vanilla mille crepe cake.  
> ( •̀ᄇ• ́)ﻭ✧
> 
> Props to my ever-suffering beta [Enzen](http://wataksampingan.tumblr.com/), who deserves an award for all the speed reading I make her do.
> 
> I'm on Tumblr [here](http://hweiro.tumblr.com/>).


End file.
